


Closer than air to skin

by rivers_bend



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-20
Updated: 2010-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are closer than air to skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closer than air to skin

**Author's Note:**

> I was doing my homework last night when I came across the following paragraph:  
> _It is years ago in Italy in the life of a boy not yet fourteen. This boy had a brother closer to him than air to skin, and this brother has just died. The two boys had spent hours alone together building electric motors, drawing designs for the engines of airplanes, the movements of their hands, their minds inseparable. The grief of the living boy is great. But now [Enrico Fermi](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Enrico_Fermi) trains himself to walk past the hospital where his brother has died, without crying. To console himself he immerses his mind in the study of science._ Susan Griffin in [Chorus of Stones](http://www.amazon.com/Chorus-Stones-Private-Life-War/dp/038541885X/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1227813448&sr=8-1)
> 
> And why wouldn't reading a book subtitled: _The Private Life of War_ make you want to write wincest?

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fan fiction](http://rivers-bend.livejournal.com/tag/fan%20fiction), [nano 08](http://rivers-bend.livejournal.com/tag/nano%2008), [slash](http://rivers-bend.livejournal.com/tag/slash), [spn](http://rivers-bend.livejournal.com/tag/spn), [wincest](http://rivers-bend.livejournal.com/tag/wincest)  
  
---|---  
  
Digging is thirsty work and Dean's throat is wet on Sam's parched lips. Dean doesn't pause, his shovel snicking through the soil, just cocks his hip so the flask in his back pocket is closer to Sam's hand. The water is warm with Dean's body heat, and bland. Sam sips again at Dean's sweat—a salty chaser—and bends back to the hole in the ground.  
~~  
The vanity is three feet wide and they stand hip-to-hip, elbows up, toothbrushes busy, catching eyes in the mirror. "Don't even think of putting my eye out with your elbow, Sasquatch," Dean's look says, and Sam's says, "Brush faster, shorty, your dick has an appointment with my ass." They spit, fight over the stream of water with cupped hands, and both still taste strongly of mint when Sam pushes Dean through the door, sucking on his tongue.  
~~  
It's not until the third time Sam has to buff black smudges off his brown boots that he realizes he and Dean are constantly playing footsie under tables, brushing, nudging, tapping, emphasizing a point, saying, "hey, wanna get out of here?"   
~~  
One advantage a "soccer-mom van" has over a '67 Chevy Impala is that with no seats in the back there's a lot more room to lay your brother out, strip off his jeans, and lick your way from his ankles up to his dick until he's swearing a blue streak and calling down the wrath of all that is holy on your head if you don't get down to business. Sam's still glad when Dean's baby is back, and they can crush into the back seat, wrists cramped, palms hot, nowhere to pant out their need except into each others' mouths.   
~~   
Dean's palm on Sam's back, Sam's fingers on Dean's waist, a hand on a shoulder or a hip, thighs brushing, heads tilting, conversations in a nod or a look, and still Dean asks, every single time, "Why do people always think we're a couple?"

"Because we _are_," Sam says, and reminds Dean what that means.


End file.
